The Boyfriend Dilemma (14 page)

Chapter nineteen

Saturday morning, and Mum's left instructions for Annalise to take us bowling today. It's her sixth day here and we've barely spent a minute in the house. Every morning Mum's handed Annalise a wad of money and said, “Have a lovely day!” before rushing off to work. We've been to the cinema twice, the ice rink and the swimming pool
three times.
Actually, Annalise didn't come into any of those places with us. She just dropped us off in her little silver car then picked us up a few hours later. I'm not sure if Mum's just desperate for us to like Annalise, and thinks that the more “fun” things we do, the more we'll agree that she's “a lovely, bright, bubbly girl”. Or maybe it's for Annalise's benefit, so she doesn't get bored living in a small, sleepy town. Normally, I'd love to do all these things –
with Layla.
And every time I politely asked if she could come along too, Mum just looked hassled and said, “Oh, I think that'd be a bit much for Annalise.” As if Layla's five, and is likely to run into the road or throw a tantrum. “We'd better go soon,” Annalise announces, clomping into the kitchen in her towering red shoes, a strappy white top and the short black skirt that clings to her bum.

“I'm still having my breakfast,” Matty grumbles.

She stands over him, sighing impatiently. Her top has the word “dazzle” on the front, picked out in silvery sparkles.

“Are you going to come bowling with us?” I ask, lacing up my own trainers.

“Of course not,” she exclaims.

I look up at her. “Why not?”

She sniffs loudly. “I'm not wearing those horrible shoes for anyone.”

Matty stares at her. “You mean
bowling
shoes?”

“Yeah.”

“But … what about when you do sport?” I venture.

She frowns, as if she's struggling to know how to respond. “I've got trainers,” she mutters, removing Matty's bowl of muesli from the table.

“Hey – I hadn't finished that,” he yells.

“Hard luck…”

“Annalise—” I start, wishing Mum was here to see this. So far, when we've all been at home, Annalise has pretty much stayed in her room. When she's been driving us places, she's been too busy muttering and swearing at other drivers to pay much attention to us. She was nice enough for the first few days but now it's as if the real person is starting to show through.

“You don't have trainers,” Matty announces, getting up from his chair and marching to the bin. He stamps on the pedal to open it and peers in at the remains of his breakfast.

“What are you talking about?” she says with a nasty laugh. “And what are you planning to do with the cereal – spoon it back out and eat it?”

“Don't be so horrible,” I snap. “He hasn't done anything to you.” My cheeks are blazing now.

Matty turns to me. “She doesn't have trainers 'cause I've been in her room and looked.
All
her shoes are like that—” He points at the red stilettos.

“What were you doing in my room?” Her eyes are wide now, her mouth set in a scowl.

“It's
our
house,” he says firmly. I grab him by the hand and pull him out into the hallway.

“Matty, don't be like this,” I hiss. “We've
got
to try and get on with her.”

“Why?”

“Because of Mum…”

We fall silent as Annalise strides out of the kitchen. “C'mon on, you two,” she says with a sigh. “Let's just go to the bowling alley.”

As we drive away from our house, I wonder if we're being too harsh on her. I mean, I hate it when Matty pokes about in my bedroom too. Maybe Mum's right, and it's tough for Annalise, trying to fit in with a new family. I decide to test her, to see if she's capable of being nice. “Er … Annalise,” I say hesitantly, “would it be OK if my friend Layla comes with us?”

She gives me a quick glance in the mirror. Matty and I are on the back seat; her shiny red handbag must have the passenger seat to itself. “I don't see why not,” she murmurs. “Where does she live?”

“Turn right at the traffic lights,” I say, my heart soaring, despite Matty grumbling that
he
wants to bring a friend too, and that of course there's room in the car because we could all squish up. “Just here,” I say, leaping out of the car the moment she pulls up in front of Layla's house.

It's Layla who answers the door. “Want to come bowling?” I ask.

“What, now? Yeah, why not?! Give me a sec and I'll get my coat.”

As Layla squeezes onto the back seat with us, I have a feeling today will be more fun than I thought.

In fact, bowling is brilliant. We have tons of goes, and Mum gave us money for snacks, even though she views bowling-alley food in the same way as fairground doughnuts – i.e.
bad for us
. So when our time's up in the alley, we install ourselves in the café and order plates of chips. I fill Layla in on the events of the past few days, and then it's Matty's turn.

“I hate her,” he mutters, stuffing chips into his mouth the minute they arrive.

“Why? Layla asks.

“She threw my breakfast in the bin.”

“What?” she exclaims.

“She's just a bit snappy and she obviously doesn't like us that much,” I add.

Layla frowns. “What are you gonna do?”

I sip my coke and, as soon as Matty's finished eating, hand him a fistful of coins to go away and play the video games. “Guess there's nothing I can do. I just hope Mum's not expecting her to take us out all the time. I feel like I've hardly seen you.”

Layla nods. “Things have been weird at our house too.”

“What's been happening?”

“Um … well, Ben's had an idea to raise funds for the Acorn. He wants to do a concert…”

“What, all by himself?”

“No, he's sort of muscled into Kyle's band,” she explains. “He came round this morning—”

“He was at your house when we picked you up?” I shriek. “Why didn't you say?”

She laughs. “It's hardly unusual these days. Anyway, before he showed up, the boys were saying they're sick of him trying to take over. Then Jude left. It looks like Ben's replaced him…”

“That's not fair! Jude's played with them right from the start.”

Layla shrugs. “I know. He just said it's no fun any more, and that he'll find himself another band.”

I pause, mulling this over. “Have you asked Kyle what's going on?”

“No. Guess it's none of my business really…”

Matty wanders back, asking for more money, but it's time to go. As we leave the bowling alley we spot Annalise sitting in her little silver car in the car park, throwing sweet wrappers out of the window.

Without asking, Matty opens the front passenger door, plonks her handbag onto the floor and scrambles onto the seat beside her.

She glares at him but doesn't say anything.

“Erm, Annalise,” I say from the back, “could we put these bags of shopping in the boot? It's a bit of a squash…” Three bulging carrier bags have been plonked in the middle of the seat. I peer into them; looks like all crisps, biscuits and sweets.

“Nah, they're all right there,” she says, pulling out of the parking space as Layla and I exchange a look.

“What's it all for?” I ask.

Annalise laughs. “To eat, of course. Sorry, Zoe, but I can't be doing with the stuff your mum cooks. I'm gonna
starve
unless I get myself something decent to eat.”

Layla and I are sniggering now. Taking care not to rustle the bags, I open them up slightly so Layla can see all the Oreos, Kit Kats and bumper packs of Hula Hoops. Annalise's mobile rings. Even though she's driving, she answers it. “Hi, Daddy, how are you?”
Daddy?
Her voice is different: posher, like she's suddenly switched to best behaviour. I glance at Layla as Annalise drives one-handed, clutching the phone to her ear.

“It's against the law to use a mobile when you're driving,” Matty says, but she ignores him.

“Yes, Daddy – it's going really well,” she says, in the new voice we've never heard before. “I promise. Yes, of course, I remember what you said.” She nods while he chats some more. “No, that won't ever happen again. Honestly, Daddy. They
love
me. They've already said I'm the best au pair they've ever had…”

“But we haven't had any others!” Matty yells. While Annalise chatters on as if he hadn't spoken, I gawp at Layla, who gives me a
what's-she-on-about?
look. Finally, she finishes the call.

“You're the only au pair we've had,” Matty reminds her, “so how come you're the best?”

“I just am,” she says with a snort.

“And why did you talk to your dad in that funny voice?”

Instead of replying, she toots angrily at an elderly lady who's taking a little too long to cross the zebra crossing.

“And you called him
Daddy
,” Matty crows, bursting out laughing. “You're a grown-up!”

“Will you shut up?” she roars, causing all of us – even Layla – to flinch.

I lean forward to tap my little brother on the shoulder. “Just leave it, Matty.”

He slumps into silence, but after a minute or so mutters, “Can I have one of your Oreos?”

“No, you bloody can't,” Annalise growls, back in her normal voice.

“I will when we get home,” he says boldly.

“You will not,” she snaps. “They'll be kept in my case, which has a combination lock on, all right?”

Layla stares at me, eyes wide.
Mad
, she mouths at me.

I know
, I mouth back.

We drop Layla back at hers and although she says, “Thanks for taking us,” as she gets out of the car, Annalise acts as if she doesn't hear. The atmosphere is so tense as she drives us home, it's as if all the fun we had at bowling never happened at all.

 

Next day, Mum is called into hospital for an emergency. I know Layla isn't around – she's persuaded her mum that her school skirt really is knicker-flashingly short, so they've driven to our nearest shopping mall. It's a cold, drizzly Sunday and Matty's so bored he's spent most of the morning swinging on the fridge door, trying to work out at which point the internal light comes on.

Our school clothes are ready, all ironed by Mum. I sit at the kitchen table, trying to get started on a history essay that we were meant to do over the holidays. Usually, Mum nags me to get any homework done at the start of the hols, but with everything that's happened, this kind of slipped through the net.

Annalise wanders into the kitchen, yawning and wearing a silky purple dressing gown and matching slippers
.
She's brought a smell with her too: Mum's favourite perfume. She
reeks
of it. I'd recognize it anywhere. “Er, what perfume are you wearing?” I ask, hoping it doesn't sound like I'm accusing her.

She shrugs. “Dunno. It was just lying around…”

On Mum's dressing table, she means. It's never anywhere else. What makes her think she can prowl around in Mum's room? She opens a cupboard and starts searching frantically among our packets and jars.

“What are you looking for?” Matty asks.

“Food,” she replies.

“There's plenty to eat—” I start.

“I mean biscuits. Something decent to eat – not your bird-foody muesli or, or …
fruit
.” She glares at our piled-high fruit bowl as if it's full of poo.

“But you bought loads,” I remind her, “while we were at the bowling alley. Didn't you say you were keeping them in your room?”

She shoots me a withering look. Why does she even want to be an au pair if young people annoy her so much? This is hardly the impression she gave when she was on the phone to
Daddy
. “They're all gone,” she says.

“You ate all those already?” Matty blurts out. “You'll have no teeth!”

“Yes, thank you, Matty,” she snaps. “What are you – a health inspector?” We both burst out laughing as she peers in the fridge and pulls out a packet of beansprouts. She mutters something I don't catch, then shoves them back in.

“You said the f-word!” Matty announces.

“No, I didn't. Just leave me alone.”

He turns to me. “She did, Zoe. She said,
Effin' beansprouts
, I heard her… I'm gonna tell Mum!”

“Matty, c'mon – just forget it,” I mutter.

“God, you two,” she groans. “I'm not feeling well, all right? And I'm hungry and all you're doing is laughing at me.” She sinks onto a kitchen chair looking pale and tired without her make-up.

I muster a sympathetic smile and sit beside her. “What's wrong?”

“Uhh … I dunno. Bit of a cold or something.”